I passed. I knew it. There was just no other way that test could have gone.
When I walked out of the Convention Center on a sunny Friday morning in late July, I felt like one of the people in Plato's "Allegory of the Cave," blinded by the bright summer sun after spending so long in the dark. Except my dark cave was prep classes and the last two days of testing.
I squinted in the late afternoon sun triumphantly. I wouldn't find out the official results of my exam for eight more weeks, but I knew I had done well. And now a weight had been lifted from my shoulders, the last step toward becoming a licensed attorney, ready to start my real life in the real world.
"Time for a motherfucking drink," Eric pronounced as he followed me out of the Boston Convention Center, where we had just spent the last two days in one of the enormous rooms with the other hundreds of new law grads in the Boston area.
Eric looked more than a little worse for wear. His T-shirt was rumpled, and his hair on one side was sticking out on the side, like he'd spent the last six hours pulling at it while he wrote the second-day series of essay responses on Massachusetts state law. His eyes drooped with dark circles, and despite the summer weather, he looked even paler than normal.
I probably looked just as terrible. Like most of the test-takers, I was exhausted and had forgone things like makeup or jewelry. I'd dressed comfortably, in layers of jeans and a hoodie to withstand the air-conditioned rooms. Outside, however, in the sticky, late-July heat, I quickly stripped down to my white tank top and pulled my messy hair into a loose braid, eager to get the sweaty strands off my neck.
"That guy with the cell phone during the third essay," Eric said. "I wanted to kill him. If I fail, I'm suing his ass, I swear it."
Several other classmates from our Andover and Harvard classes were also filtering out of the building. Most had the same bleary, dazed expressions that come from two straight days of testing.
"Woohoo! Time to get messed up!"
Shouts of relief started to pepper the air as more and more people emerged. If there was ever a day to let loose, this was it. Most of us were taking two weeks off for the vacation we hadn't gotten after graduating from law school in May. It was fairly typical for most firms to negotiate their associates' start dates a few weeks after the exam; no one needed a burned-out associate when they expected us to hit the ground running.
For my part, I was thrilled to have some time off. While the dramas of the spring hadn't completely disappeared, they were all basically in a holding pattern. The security team in Brooklyn confirmed that my dad was continuing with his rehabilitation and therapy regimen without any more interference from Victor Messina or Katie Corleone. Miranda had, predictably, continued to delay divorce proceedings, but had not caused any additional headaches once Brandon and I had started seeing each other more openly.
Maurice and Janette had remained in New York (presumably with her family) since the Fourth, and although Maurice continued to pester Brandon with occasional phone calls and sometimes even messengered proposals, there was no more than a few distant suggestions that we socialize with them until they returned to Boston in August. The gifts had stopped. Janette was as silent as she had ever been.
The official word from BNP was that Maurice was working at the New York office for the time being. Margie, Brandon's assistant, couldn't get any other information about why he was there. It could have been any number of things: a deal gone bad, some kind of scheme the company was trying to hide. Maurice was a large enough figure that any malfeasance could cause a scandal that would affect stock prices. My best bet was that he was being given a shot at a mea culpa.
He didn't talk to me much about it, but I knew that the DNC was also pressuring Brandon to make a decision about a mayoral run. The election wasn't until the following year, but they likely wanted to start fundraising. The local papers continued to speculate about his interest in politics, and a few PACs had already been started for him. I didn't miss the clench of his jaw whenever he saw a new headline. What I didn't know was what he was going to do. I wondered if he was waiting for me to make that decision first.
Like a herd of escaped livestock, close to fifty of us overtook the nearest bar, aptly named The Drunk Monk, as we'd all felt like secluded monks with our study guides for the last month.
Eric and I sat at the bar with Steve Kramer, one of our classmates, and quickly ordered several plates of bar grub along with drinks, the boys opting for a pitcher of PBR while I took my preferred drink of whiskey and soda.
"And a round of tequila shots!" Steve called out as the bartender walked away to put in our order.
"Come on, Crosby," Eric prodded when I made a face. "If there was ever a day to drink cheap liquor, this is it."
"You seem pretty sure of yourself."
Jared appeared next to us, looking only slightly less groomed than normal. The collar of his polo shirt was still starched, and the only sign that he'd also been testing for the last two days was that his khaki shorts were creased from sitting for too long. He flagged the bartender and ordered a beer, then looked down at me with a bright smile. I couldn't help but smile back as the bartender delivered everyone's drinks along with a tray full of shots.
"Onwards and upwards, counselors," Steve crowed as he reached between us and delivered shot glasses to me, Jared, and several other classmates crowding the bar.
I held up my shot along with everyone else as the adrenaline of finishing this chapter rushed through the room. We all tipped them back with howls and hoots and gleefully ordered another round.
"Keep 'em coming!" Steve shouted before throwing back a second tequila and sucking on a lime.
"And some water," I called before following suit.
I held a hand to my forehead while I sucked on my lime. Two shots in, and I was already feeling lightheaded.
"I need some food," I croaked to Eric while Jared calmly sipped his beer. "Didn't we order potato skins?"
As if on cue, the skins arrived, along with a plate of fried mozzarella and clam strips. We dug in. Fried food had never tasted so good.
"I wish Jane were here," I said to Eric after scarfing my second skin. "It isn't the same, celebrating without her."
"She'll be here on Friday," Eric said, as if it were completely normal that he would know that in the first place. Suddenly he found a scratch in the bar top extremely interesting.
Both Jane and Eric had been mum since the Fourth––Eric because he never said anything about his love life, and Jane because she still staunchly denied the long weekend meant anything at all. More interesting was that although I had talked to her several times in the last three weeks, she had also not mentioned a visit. Not once.
"Will she?" I asked with a raised brow. "And when was this decided?"
Eric took a gulp of his beer. "Last night. She's planning to spend her vacation in Boston."
"And is she planning to stay with us?"
Eric looked up. "What, do you want me to pay more of the rent? I didn't think you'd mind. I'm sure she was going to tell you after her exam. She's just not done until tomorrow."
He popped a piece of fried cheese into his mouth and focused on aligning his coaster and beer glass with the edge of the bar, as if knowing Jane's bar exam schedule and the fact that he would be hosting the same girl every night for two weeks wasn't completely out of the ordinary. I said nothing, just gave a hard stare while he ate.
"Okay!" he finally exploded after swallowing his food. "Jesus. If I tell you that I like her, will you stop staring a freaking hole through my forehead with those laser beams?"
He rubbed viciously at said spot, as if the pressure was literally killing him. I folded my arms with a satisfied smile at Jared, who just looked confused.
"I'm glad you can admit the truth," I said haughtily before picking up my drink.
"I'm not the one you should worry about," Eric grumbled. "You should be talking to Jane about the truth, not me."
I quirked my eyebrow, but that was all he was willing to say about the matter.
Two more shots and several rounds of drinks later, the entire bar was effectively shitfaced. I had already seen at least three soon-to-be-prominent Boston attorneys sprint to the bathrooms to throw up, and a few others had just skipped the line and dashed outside to hurl over the pier. We were messier than a frat house during Rush week.
Steve was getting sloppy with one of his BC classmates on the improvised dance floor by the juke box, and Eric was working hard not to fall off his bar stool while he checked his phone every two minutes and crooned George Michael's "Faith" every so often. Eric, as it happened, could actually sing. I was willing to bet a thousand dollars that most of his texts were drunk missives to a certain half-Korean friend of mine.
I, on the other hand, had sent my share of drunk-texts to Brandon, who was trapped in meetings at the office. Jared had kept me company at the bar and continued to ply me with alcohol and greasy food while we competed with our worst law school stories. We all sacrificed a lot to get to this point, financially and personally. The road to becoming a lawyer took a lot of time and money that most people couldn't understand. While many of our friends from college and high school were well into their careers, we were just starting now, and wouldn't be able to take a reasonable break for another several years.
"You have no idea what I've given up for this," I pronounced to Jared for the fifth time, sweeping my arms like great wings. I smacked the shoulder of a dancing classmate. "Sorry, girl."
"I bet I can beat you." Jared's voice was becoming increasingly slurred too. "Summer in Europe."
I snorted. "Oh, I'm so sorry, lil' rich boy, that you had to skip your special snowflake vacay." I held a thumb out, preparing to count. "Thanksgiving three years in a row. My grandmother's seventy-fifth birthday. Helping my dad through rehab. Missed every one of 'em."
Jared frowned at the last one. "Shit. I didn't know about your dad, Skylar. Everything okay?"
I tipped back the last of my fourth whiskey soda. "It will be. He's...got some issues." I turned to the bartender and signaled for another round, barely managing to keep myself on my barstool. "So, summer vacation? That's all you got for me, precious?"
Jared grinned and pushed his floppy brown hair off his forehead. "Okay, okay, no. I got a few more. My best friend's wedding. In Tahiti."
I shook my head so hard I almost fell off my stool. "Still a rich boy problem, but yeah, that had to hurt. But I got you again." I held out a second finger: "Spending time with my long-lost brother and sister this summer."
"Spending time with my aging grandmother. She's got rheumatoid arthritis, you know."
"Missing my sister's birthday party in New York," I shot back.
"Missing every party all summer long," Jared countered.
"All the money I could have been making to pay for my dad's rehab."
"All that gas money driving back and forth from Andover every day."
"A baby."
The words fell between us like a stone, tumbling out of my mouth in spectacular word-vomit before I could stop them. I stared at the ground, as if I could actually see the bomb I'd just dropped. The blood drained from my head, and I swayed on my seat. Did I really say that? No, no, I didn't. I couldn't have.
"You were pregnant?" Jared asked, all signs of friendly competition replaced with sharp curiosity.
Fuck.
"Uh, no," I said, trying and failing to stifle the flush racing up my neck and cheeks. "No, no, no. I was just trying to one-up you. I get kind of competitive like that sometimes."
I gave him a sheepish, probably useless smile. Jared was too busy calculating the months to notice.
"Was it Sterling's?" He tapped his chin, trying to process the news. "Does he know?"
I shook my head furiously, terror rising in my belly. Fuck, fuck, FUCK.
"Jared, it was a joke," I insisted, shifting around in my stool to try to catch his bleary, yet searching brown eyes. Do not look away, do not look away. "Look into my eyes. I. was. never. pregnant."
Did those words sound as vacant as they felt? I couldn't tell. Jared stared at me for a few more seconds, then gave a half-hearted shrug.
"All right," he said. "I hope not. That's a heck of a joke to make, Skylar."
"What's a heck of a joke?"
I turned to find Brandon elbowing his way through the crowd, standing out in his tailored suit among a crowd full of drunken, casually dressed exam-takers.
"Um, nothing," I said as I accepted his hearty kiss. "Just a dumb joke."
I pushed my glasses up my nose and shook my head infinitesimally at Jared while Brandon sat on the stool behind me. He scooted forward to straddle my seat and ordered himself an IPA. If Jared didn't think the joke was funny, Brandon definitely wouldn't like it. And, considering how well Brandon could read my face, he would probably know it wasn't a joke at all.
Jared pressed his mouth shut and took a long drink of his beer while Brandon looked him over.
"Okay, then," Brandon said. "Looks like I'm a few behind you, babe."
He pulled my frozen form against his chest. His familiar almond scent reminded me just how little I'd been able to see him in the last weeks.
"You smell good, " he murmured into my ear as he brushed my braid over one shoulder to kiss me on the neck, just under my earlobe. "Like jasmine and...tequila, is it? Not usually your drink, but I'll take it."
Jared watched us with hooded eyes, then started studying the rim of his beer glass. I didn't know why he hadn't disappeared yet; considering what had happened at the gala, this wasn't going to be anything but awkward.
Brandon paid for his drink, the arm wrapped around my waist tightened. I recognized it as the territorial move it was.
"So, Jared, right?" Brandon said over my shoulder "You think you passed?"
Jared cleared his throat. "Yeah, I think so. It's a tough test, as you know, but our class was a good one. Plus, Skylar's a great study partner."
The forearm around my midsection flexed, but Brandon's smile didn't waver. He glanced down at me and pressed a kiss to my forehead.
"I bet she is," he said. "After all, my Skylar's wicked smart."
His accent was out in full, making "Skylar" sounds like "Sky-lah" and "smart" sound like "smaht". It was either an indication of his raised anxiety or a play to intimidate Jared. Considering that Jared was a rich kid from the suburbs who would be very familiar with the class tensions in Boston, I was guessing the latter.
"Thanks," I said, finally finding my voice again. "She's also sitting right here, so you guys can stop talking about her like she's not."
Brandon squeezed my waist again while Jared looked mildly contrite.
"So, do you have any plans for the break, Jared?" Brandon asked, affecting a kinder voice. "I'm assuming your grandfather is giving you one, right?"
I tried to elbow him, but only hit the bar. The contact sent an arrow of pain up my arm. I winced and grasped my elbow. Brandon immediately cupped the spot with his hand and started to massage like he had been planning to do that the entire time. I would have brushed him off, but it felt really, really good. Damn it.
Jared took a sip of his beer and cleared his throat as he took in Brandon's familiarity with my body. "Um, yeah," he said. "Two weeks off, like everyone else. I'm heading to St. Bart's with friends to blow off some steam. What about you, Skylar?" He looked at me as if Brandon wasn't there.
I shrugged. "Not much. I'll probably go down to visit my family in New York, take it easy for a bit."
"Actually, I had a surprise planned," Brandon said quietly enough that I wasn't sure that Jared could even hear him.
He set an envelope down in front of me. I picked it up. This wasn't grandstanding anymore; Brandon had come prepared with a gift.
I twisted around to find an adorable puppy-dog expression on Brandon's face. He looked hopeful, yet tentative. I couldn't blame him for being nervous; I didn't have the best track-record of accepting his gifts. But things were different now. We had a different level of trust, and I had finally started to let my issues about that sort of thing go.
"What is it?" I asked as I examined the envelope. "What did you do?"
"Open it," he said, blue eyes sparkling with anticipation.
Inside the envelope were several pamphlets of various locations in South France, and a slip bearing a confirmation for a flight bound to Toulouse.
"You got me a trip to France?" I stared at the papers with wide eyes, not quite believing what I saw. "Really?"
Slowly, like he was next to a wild animal, Brandon nodded.
"I thought maybe you'd like to make some better memories there than you did in Paris," he said. "You deserve a break, Red. You've been through a lot the last few months. If you don't want to go here, we could go somewhere else. I just thought now was a good time to get away." With a quick glance at Jared, who was still watching with an increasingly dark expression, Brandon added, "Together."
I looked at the confirmation slip again, which had both of our names on it. We were supposed to leave the day after tomorrow.
"Can you afford to take all this time?" I asked quietly. "It's not like you don't have your own stuff to deal with right now."
Brandon just pressed another chaste kiss on my cheek that promised more than it showed.
"The truth?" he asked.
I nodded.
"I might have booked our flight the second you agreed to come to dinner that night." He gave a sheepish smile. "I might have been planning this for a while."
Slowly, unbidden, an ear-splitting grin spread across my face until it felt like my cheeks were going to crack in half. Suddenly I was so excited, I was practically vibrating in my seat.
"Toulouse?" I asked again, my voice hitching up another octave. "Really?"
Two weeks in Toulouse. In the summer. Alone with Brandon. I literally could not think of anything better.
"For a night," Brandon said, now with a megawatt grin that mirrored my own. "Then we would go down to Marseille. Mark agreed to loan us his villa on the water."
Okay, except that. That was definitely better!
"What do you say, Red?" Brandon asked, picking up one of my hands and bringing it to his lips. "Will you go to France with me?"
The question was so formal and out-of-character for Brandon, such an obvious attempt not to go overboard (despite the extravagance of the gift), that my heart squeezed and my response came freely.
"Yes!" I sprang out of my seat, threw my arms around his neck, and peppered his laughing face with kisses. "Yes-yes-yes-yes-YES!"
Brandon laughed as he held me off the ground, causing a few of my classmates to turn around and smile at us.
"Well," I said with a grin to Jared as I was set back down. He looked like he was going to be sick. "I guess I'm going to France for my vacation."
Jared immediately pasted a polite smile on his face. "That sounds great," he said. Then he looked over my shoulder and waved at someone. "Excuse me. Just going to say hi."
Brandon watched him go with a satisfied expression that was far too similar to a lion who had just kicked out the weaker member of the pride. I elbowed him in the gut.
"You could wipe that smug expression off your face, Sterling. It was never a contest."
"I know, Red," Brandon said. "That guy couldn't handle you anyway." His expression dropped to a frown as he considered something. "But I'm glad you're not going to be studying together anymore. I don't like the way he looks at you."
"How's that?"
Brandon looked at me with a positively predatory gleam. "Like you're something to eat."
I stared at him with my mouth open, something in his feral expression robbing me of my capacity to speak. Brandon revealed a few white teeth with a half-smile, then slipped an arm around my waist and pulled me against his tall, hard form.
"Are you ready to celebrate alone yet?" he asked with a quick nip to my earlobe.
I shuddered as his hands slid down to cup my ass and squeeze gently. I stepped out of his embrace, concerned I might combust right there in the bar, in front of all of my future colleagues, if I let Brandon keep touching me like that.
He just smiled again, baring his teeth like a lion on the hunt. I was his prey, and I couldn't be happier about it.
~